


The World, Expectant

by ashmeera101



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmeera101/pseuds/ashmeera101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the ashes, a Herald rises - though not quite the one Thedas expects. She is a grey-skinned heretic, breathing blasphemy with every word, every action. But she digs her fingers into the soil, builds the Inquisition anew from the dust of the past, taking every blow the world throws at her. </p><p>She will endure. Adaar will endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Adaar never flinched.

Varric had been watching her, ever since Cassandra had dragged her along to the forward camp, completely unhappy about arming the only survivor from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The only suspect. But apparently, she could close the demon-spilling rifts that they’d been fighting all the way here with a simple flick of her hand. Solas had held her wrist as she closed the first one, and Varric could see the thick, green line across the Qunari’s palm, how it flared and pulsed as if it were alive.

And what was her reaction when Varric asked her how things were?  
  
“I’ll manage.” Her voice was even. Clear.

Then she let out a grunt as her fingers burned green, a pulse that sent her free hand clawing to the affected palm. And then silence, as she glared into the skies, glared at the great hole torn into the Fade as if challenging it to do more harm.

When they fell into formation; Cassandra at the lead, Solas taking the rear, climbing up the precarious old mining ladders to get to the temple, he watched her from the corner of his eye, how she gripped the leather strapping of the bow, much too small for somebody of her size, fingers too tight around the brittle weapon. Her eyes were ever forward, clear and green, watching the Seeker’s back as she led the way through the mountains. She cut down demons with a brutal efficiency that rivalled the Seeker’s own, firing arrow after arrow with deadly precision, even with a bow she was not accustomed to, a bow much too small for her.

The bowstring snapped as they made their way across a frozen lake. It cut her chin as she held it in aim, a long, thin line just below her eyelid. Blood dripped from the wound, unnoticed as she panicked, sliding away from the wraith that pulsed closer and closer to her. Varric took it down with a bolt between its eyes before rushing to her, but she was already at work, blood-stained hands reaching for her pockets and drawing out a tightly coiled piece of cord.

“Ever prepared,” she said evenly, knotting the bowstring with a flourish. There was blood all over the shaft and handle, and before Varric could say anything, Cassandra pursed her lips and urged them onward.

They cut through demons galore before they reached the temple, but they could see the destruction from miles away. Great shards of rock thrown from the ground, their spindly obsidian surfaces glistening with the Breach’s eerie light. You could hardly see the valley anymore for the destruction. Varric turned to Adaar, watching how her eyes narrowed, brow creasing ever so before it smoothened once more. Deadly, he thought. This was not a woman to be trifled with.

She learned quickly as well. Varric himself barely listened to what Solas had to say about the rifts, and yet there she was, a rogue just like him, not an ounce of magic in her, listening and nodding at the apostate as he ran her through what she had to do. At the next rift, Solas barely spoke a word before she had run forward, cleaving a shade through the eye with her bow and pointing her fingers at the rift. And now she wielded the mark on her hand as if she’d been using it for years, rather than a couple of hours.

Not a single flinch. Not one.

Even when the Pride demon loomed above them, its otherworldly laughter making the hairs on his nape rise, she just glared it down, dodging its crackling whip smoothly as if she did this all day. She was graceful, and he would have never thought he’d call a Qunari graceful – ducking and sprinting and dodging, throwing stealth powder over herself just as a Shade reached out towards her, its claws suddenly grasping against thin air. It looked around in confusion, but only for a second, before dissolving into a terrible scream as neat row of arrows, one, two, three, dug into its gelatinous flesh. Adaar had reappeared atop a fallen piece of stone, her eyes and glowing hand already turned to the Breach to disable it.

In the midst of the battle, Varric made the vital mistake of pausing, just for a second, as he watched her in motion. And as such, a shade had thrown him against one of the sharp rising rocks cleaved from the ground in the explosion. Bianca was cast several feet ahead, jammed into a rising shard of red lyrium. The shade had been taken down by a soldier’s cleaving sword before it could do more harm, but he lay there all the same, bruised and covered in black bile. He tried to move forward to grab Bianca, but a white hot pain seized up his leg, causing him to fall back to the ground, fingers clutching at the source. It must be broken, a small part of his brain registered.

He scanned the battlefield, saw Cassandra fending off a Rage demon while Solas desperately tried to hold off three shades on his own. Their archers were falling like paper dolls in the wind, and the foot soliders were not very far behind either. His fingers tightened as he shuffled forward, inch by inch, ignoring the stabbing in his leg as he moved closer to the crossbow. If this was where he was going to die, he’d better take as many of these Andraste-be-damned demons with him.

Just as his fingers curled around Bianca’s grip, he heard the laugh.

Pride had spotted him. Its lips pulled back to reveal blackened teeth, too many of them in rows and rows, thick stands of saliva dripping, dripping, down. The laugh echoed through Varric’s chest, weakening his grip on the crossbow as he involuntarily inched away, as if the dwarf with the broken leg could escape Pride itself. Fear gripped at him, as clean and cold as a midwinter’s wind as he watched it swerve towards him.

It raised its hand, the crackling whip pulsing loud as it cleaved into the ground, taking out three foot soldiers. Varric watched as their bodies were tossed aside, sizzling and blackened, the touch of the whip hopefully killing them instantly. The demon’s many eyes were focused on him now, its mouth pulled into a cruel sneer as it approached, step by gigantic step, and Varric had drawn himself against the rock wall of the temple, cornered against stone and red lyrium. He could hear the song, soft and inviting, one he wished he would have died never hearing again, and between that and the demon, he scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

But it never came.

There was a great shout, and Varric opened his eyes to see Adaar sliding directly underneath the demon, the last bit of stealth powder trailing off her coat and horns. Her arrow was pointed directly at its face, so when it turned in whatever surprise a demon felt, the shaft found its mark.

He thought demons couldn’t feel pain, but this one howled as more and more arrows met its eyes. Adaar’s fingers were swift, dumping five, six, seven arrows into Pride’s face until it was clawing at its mangled eyes, spraying black ichor over everything. Varric was forgotten for now.

“Can you stand?” Adaar was suddenly next to him, arms under his armpits as she lifted him up as easily as lifting a ragdoll. “Apparently not,” she added as he nearly shuddered to the ground in a yelp, his bad leg all but crumbling underneath him. “We need to get you somewhere safe…” But her words trailed off as the sound of the lightning whip crackled once more, far too close for comfort. Adaar wasted no time; lifting him high and running over to where the rocks had thrown themselves up in almost a makeshift shield wall, twisting amongst shards of red lyrium, pulsing slowly. “Stay here,” she said, leaning him against the stone.  
  
“Not like I can go anywhere if I wanted to,” he managed to grumble as she set Bianca beside him. The corner of her lips quirked upwards as she nocked another arrow.

“I’ll be back.” And she was gone again, stealth powder against plate metal, and Varric could hear her ever so soft footsteps as she ran back into the fray. The exertion of the past few minutes had left him completely winded, and so there he sat, forgotten, as he attempted to figure out what was wrong with his foot. Cassandra won’t be happy with this, he thought as he pulled off his boot, gritting his teeth to avoid yelping in pain. The skin around his ankle had turned a blotchy blue and was swollen all the way up his mid-leg. Not a good sign. He prodded at it, localising the pain to just below the knobbly bone of his ankle.

Before he could investigate more, he heard a loud whoosh, as if all the air in the area was suddenly being rushed through a small opening. He looked up and saw a large green flare, riding up into the monstrous hole of the Breach, casting a ripple of sound and energy across the sky with a large, resounding _crack_. Then, silence.

He wondered how long he lay there in wait as more and more people entered the temple clearing. None but Adaar knew he was here, but he wondered if anybody would remember him in the chaos that ensued. No, he thought with a wry smile. Cassandra would remember. She had at least three hundred bones to pick with him.

And true enough, it was the Seeker’s head that finally poked round the corner of the rock formation. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face splattered with grime and gore, but there was no mistaking the relief in her eyes at the sight of him.

“Varric!” She turned around, motioning to somebody before climbing over the rocks herself. “You survive.”  
  
“Yeah, thanks to your prisoner.” He grunted in pain as he shifted towards her, watching as several Inquisition soldiers approached. Two of them carried a stretcher. “Speaking of which, where is she?”  
  
Cassandra was about to speak when Solas’ voice carried across the clearning.  
  
“She is alive, Cassandra. But we need to take her back to Haven. She needs healing.”  
  
“What happened to her?” A tinge of worry crept into his voice.  
  
“She managed to close the Breach.” Cassandra watched as the soldiers lifted him onto the stretcher, mindful of his leg. Once they were done, she reached over and took Bianca in her blood-soaked hands. “But the effort must have been too much. She fell unconscious as soon as it was done.”  
  
“She gonna be alright?”  
  
“Solas believes so. But for now, we only have hope.” Cassandra looked to the sky, and Varric followed her gaze. The Breach was a sickly green, but for now, it had stopped shitting demons. It was a start.  
  
“She can close the rifts.” Cassandra spoke more to herself than to those around her. “Maybe there is hope after all.”  
  
*

Tashak mentally scanned the item in her arms. Leather grip, singed slightly at parts. Common birchwood, strong and supple, albeit a little short for someone with her armspan. No bowstring, but that was her doing; it had survived the explosion and the ensuing battles but it did not look as if it would last much longer. The replacement, blood-stained and frayed as it was, carried her through the battle with the Pride demon and allowed her to seal the Breach, but had also taken a lot of punishment, so it had been removed and discarded.

Any ordinary string wouldn’t have worked, so she had gone to the Inquisition’s smith. It had to be thicker than your normal bowstring, Harritt said, rubbing the back of his head, because she was Qunari and _they made damn good archers_ , from what he heard. _Strong as an ox, if you don’t mind the comparison_ , he added sheepishly. She waved him away with a smile. No use getting riled up over a simple mistake.

A runner had sent them to her only half an hour ago; three coiled pieces of rawhide, thicker than any bowstring you’d find in the Inquisition’s armory. Probably druffalo hide, she thought as she tested its strength, stretching it until it was taut, then tugging at it so it made a sound. A low, humming note filled the room, resonating until she caught the string, stopped it from vibrating.  
  
Good make, she thought.

Now, with a practiced hand, she restrung the bow. Her fingers enjoyed the distraction, going through the motions as she had done hundreds of times in the past. All she focused on now was the weapon in front of her, a weapon that had saved her life more times than she’d like to admit, despite it being rather rudimentary. 

After one last check-through, she slung the bow across her back, letting it join the quiver of arrows that she’d also just inspected. Standard Inquisition make; iron tips and goosefeather fletching. Looked decent, but she’d have to try them out to see if they were any good. She wondered if she had enough time to get to the training grounds before they had to leave.

Leliana’s scouts had returned last night, bringing news that they had successfully made camp in the Hinterlands. Her first task for the Inquisition was to lead a small party to said camp, where they were to meet a Scout Harding. She would have more information about the lay of the land and the location of potential recruits. The advisors had said to meet with a Mother Giselle, as well as to convince a fabled horsemaster to join their cause.

Her pack was all set, and she slung it across her shoulders with the bow and arrow.

As she was carrying out her final checks, the centre of her left palm began to sting. It would have been easy to ignore, if it were not for the fact that it was constant and annoying. Finally when she couldn’t bear it anymore, she sat down on her bed, pulling off her glove in irritation.

The mark was not glowing as bright as it did at the Breach, but it did cast a greenish glow against her leathers. No matter how much she stared at it, poked and prodded at her hand, she couldn’t make it hurt any less. Nor could she make it flare as bright as it did when she was near a rift. Solas had already established that the mark was connected to the rifts, perhaps to the Fade itself, but Tashak honestly didn’t understand half of what the mage was saying. She’d always left the magic stuff to her brother.

_Karavaad._

A white-hot grief struck her suddenly. Cassandra had also mentioned, multiple times in fact, that she was the only survivor of the explosion. Which means, everybody else present, those that didn’t manage to find shelter or escape in time…

Her siblings, the ones she was supposed to have been protecting, dead. Just like their parents. She was the only one left.

Before she could dwell on this any longer, there was a knock on her door. She quickly composed herself, pulling the glove back over her hand before answering.

Varric’s grin was all she could see, bright against the still-darkness of the camp. “Seeker asked me to see if you were up. Well, more like commanded me actually. You know how she is. We’re all set to go if you are, Herald.”  
   
She grimaced at the title, probably a little too obviously, because Varric raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry. It’s going to take a while for me to get used to that.”

“I can imagine,” he said. He stepped aside for her to exit the cabin. “Well, if it’ll make you feel better, I can call you something else.”  
  
“A nickname?” Tashak looked at him with a grin of her own. “Varric Tethras is about to bestow upon me one of his famed nicknames. I should be honoured.”  
  
“Don’t get too excited,” he laughed. “I was actually gonna suggest that I call you ‘Boss’. Short and to the point, nothing fancy.” 

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “After all of that? You wound me serah.”  
  
He bowed at her, still grinning. “S’what I do. Besides, nicknames take a while. Give me a week, tops, and you’ll have it.”

Shaking her head at him, her mood slightly improved, Tashak looked to the great gates of Haven. They were thrown ajar, letting the rays of the rising sun wash over the village. Already, soldiers could be heard training in the snow, and she could hear Cullen’s occasional shouts over the din of sword against sword.

“Well, I supposed we’d better head down there.”  
  
“We should. And Boss?” he added before she could start walking, “Just a heads up. I’ve got tiny legs. And one of them’s faulty.” He gestured to the aforementioned appendages, one of them clad in a brace. “Please remember that when you’re gliding across the Frostbacks. I know you’re a busy person and all but spare a thought for the dwarf, alright?”

Tashak chuckled again, resisting the urge to clap him on the shoulder. _Give it time, you barely know him._ “I’ll try. Won’t make any promises though.”

“You are evil,” Varric groaned.

They made their way to the edge of the camp, past the soldiers and Cullen, who was yelling at them, until they reached the fork in the road where Cassandra and Solas were waiting. Although she knew what her eyes would find, she couldn’t help but turn towards the sickly green glow of the Breach. It was as large and omnious as ever, swirling ever so slowly, tinting the very clouds surrounding it, the snowy peaks underneath it. The very sight of it turned her stomach, though she managed to still her anxiety to a dull ache.

Adaar survived. Adaar will endure.

She turned back to Solas and Cassandra, the latter who was looking at her rather oddly.

“Are you alright, Herald?” She tried not to grimace at the title, but instead nodded at the Seeker.  
  
“I’m fine. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”  
  
Cassandra continued to stare at her as she passed them, taking the lead. If she had turned around to survey her company, she would have noticed Varric pointedly looking at the Seeker, before sighing and stomping ahead after her.

* 

The Hinterlands were beautiful. But they were also on fire.

Varric hated to watch things burn. He’d seen Kirkwall in flames, twice mind you, so the sight of houses burning set his heart thumping uneasily, made his stomach coil around the bread and cheese he’d eaten for breakfast.

Not to mention that the Hinterlands were on fire because of the mage rebellion. Yet another reminder of Kirkwall, of a man he once called a friend emerging from the shadows just moments before all went to hell, declaring himself the cause of the chaos. Every time Varric caught sight of a mage encampment, every time they cut down a group of them in the name of peace, he would scan the faces of the dead.

He wasn’t sure what he looked for.

They had cleaved a path from their camp to the Crossroads, allowing safe passage for food and other supplies to reach the refugees. For her first assignment as Herald, Adaar certainly delivered with the same brutal efficiency as she did on the battlefield in the Frostbacks. But this was different, here the people looked at them with fear and awe equal in their eyes, and none received more stares than their Herald.  
  
She certainly cut an impressive figure in the new armour supplied to her. Her horns arched above her head in a curve almost akin to a halo, casting long shadows across her face. Three white lines were drawn across her cheeks – vitaar, she had told him with a smile as he watched her draw them on. Body paint that hardens into armour. The name sits familiar on his tongue, remnants of a time in the past, of Kirkwall and Qunari and Hawke, oh Hawke, holding her staff in front of a horned giant as if she could come out of that victorious.  
  
He doesn’t know why the memories are especially sour today. Yes, it was almost four years to the day that Kirkwall was shattered, but he was as far away from Kirkwall as he could be; three weeks across the Waking Sea and double that number across Ferelden. But the echoes of what had happened still surrounded him – both in the form of mages and Templars murdering innocents, and in the form of the red lyrium veins thrusting themselves out of the ground, humming softly just out of reach. They had stumbled across one of them as they trekked across the terrain, and with a single look at Varric, Adaar had taken Cassandra aside and told her to destroy it.

Brutal efficiency, he thought as he watched Cassandra effortlessly bash the red lyrium to pieces with her shield. Adaar made a mark on her map, a spindly ‘X’ over the spot, and rolled it up carefully, her eyes already looking to the herd of ram grazing by the next hill over. Ram meat and furs for the Crossroads.

By nightfall, Varric was exhausted. From running around carting fur and meat and other supplies to the refugees to setting up new Inquisition campsites at strategic locations across the land, to taking out more mages and Templars than he could count. More burning houses, more charred bodies, a whole lot more screaming. His ankle was protesting under the strain, and he was glad when Adaar declared that they should make camp. Strategically, right in front of the farmlands of a certain Master Dennet, the horsemaster they hoped to recruit for the Inquisition. He wondered if Adaar had this all planned from before they left Haven.

Now, he sat by the fire and gingerly unhooked the brace from his ankle. The metal contraption was the work of both Harritt and Adan; both of them grumbled at each other when he said he was to be accompanying the Herald out onto the field. Adan tittered about how he should be resting, lest the foot set wrong, and Harritt grunted as he took Varric’s measurements for the brace. He already had several ready, but they were all human-sized.

It served him well enough, he thought. With Adan’s healing, the bone had taken days to heal rather than weeks, and he was already walking with a crutch before Adaar had awakened herself. But hobbling around was different from actually fighting, so he was glad that Harritt finished the brace just in time for them to set off.

The brace had left marks on his boot, but his leg was sound. Slightly bruised from all the walking, but there was barely any swelling. Before his leg could cramp up, he slotted it back into the boot, just in time for Adaar to join him by the fire.  
  
“Good work out there today,” he said in greeting. She nodded as she stood, hands outstretched towards the fire. There was a silence, comfortable and heavy, but Varric remembered something he should’ve said back in Haven.

“I don’t think I’ve had the chance to thank you.” Varric folded his arms and looked at her with a small smile. “You hauled my ass out of there, got me safe. Didn’t think you’d manage that while neck deep in demons.”

“It was nothing.” Adaar shrugged, slinging her bow off from across her back as she finally sat down, laying it by her side. “That demon was about to turn you into a roast, and I’m pretty sure dwarf doesn’t taste very good.”  
  
Varric laughed at that. “Hey, I like to believe I taste just fine, thanks very much.”  
  
“Well, let’s not test that theory shall we?” Adaar’s lips were curled into a smile, but her eyes were serious as they caught the brace sitting beside his boot. “How’s the leg?”  
  
“I’ll survive.” He tested the foot in question, wincing slightly as he pointed it forward. “It’ll be a week or so before it’s completely back to normal. The brace helps.” Though, he thought with a jolt, Anders would’ve healed it up overnight... 

His fingers tightened into a fist. She noticed.  
  
“You alright?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” He was curt, more so than he intended, but sighed at the sight of the Herald, whose eyes were also tired and was probably going through a lot more shit than he was. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week, boss, and I’m an old dwarf with many memories. I’ll be fine after some ale.”  
  
A hand clapped his shoulder, warm and heavy. Adaar’s eyes were kind.

“Sure, Varric.” She watched as he stood up, favouring his uninjured leg as he limped towards the tents. Before he could get out of earshot, she called back to him.

“We’ll find out where the red lyrium comes from. I promise.”  
  
To be making promises this early into a friendship was either reckless, calculated or genuine. Varric hoped it was the latter.

*

  
“What dyou think of these guys?” Varric had returned to the fire with two mugs of ale. He set one down beside Adaar and took a generous gulp from the other. She nodded at him but didn’t touch the ale, content to continue staring at the distance.

The Hinterlands were freezing at night. Varric was accustomed to the cold, but even the harshest winter in Kirkwall couldn’t compare to Ferelden, even during the thaw. It was as if the chill crept through your layers to kiss your shivering skin, even with your hands in your armpits and a pint or two of dwarven ale inside of you. Which is why, after a couple of minutes, half of Varric’s tankard was empty and he was sitting on his hands, his breaths coming out in thick plumes of smoke.  
  
Adaar on the other hand sat as still as a stone, her own breathing more like wisps of steam next to Varric’s. She was more resistant to the cold it seems, for she only wore a travelling coat over her leathers, and her gloveless hands rested on her lap.

“Hm?” she said after a while. “Who?”  
  
“Cassandra and Solas.” He motioned to the two tents at the edge of the camp, where the two people in mention slept. “We’ve been out here for a week at least, not including the happy fun times up in the mountains with demons shitting on us. That’s a week to form first impressions, if I do say so myself.”  
  
Adaar snickered. “I never thought I’d hear what happened in the Temple of Sacred Ashes being described as ‘happy fun times’.”  
  
“Yeah, well, they don’t call me a writer for nothing.” Varric drained his tankard and looked at her pointedly. “But you’re avoiding the question, boss.”  
  
Adaar sighed and looked out into the darkness again. “Fine.” She picked at a stray thread on her trousers before starting.  
  
“I like Cassandra.”  
  
If Varric was still drinking his ale, he’d have choked on it.  
  
“Even after all that crap she gave you?”  
  
Adaar shrugged. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s working to protect what she believes in. That’s admirable. Plus, she’s got a pretty mean sword arm. The way she took out that one Templar?” She made a chopping motion with her hand. “Head clean off. Brutal. I like that.”  
  
“You might have also forgotten that she wanted _your_ head on a pike at the start of all this.” He waved his hand towards the Breach. It glowed pale even at night. Adaar looked to it and shuddered.  
  
“She apologised. It was an honest mistake.” She rubbed a hand against her forearm, as if the cold was finally getting to her.  
  
Varric snorted and folded his arms. “Just when I thought I had you pinned, Adaar.”  
  
“I’m full of surprises, just you wait,” Adaar snickered once more. “And you can have the ale. I don’t drink on duty.”  
  
Varric’s eyebrows shot up again. “And again you surprise me.”  
  
Adaar waggled her eyebrows at him. “So much you don’t know, Master Tethras. So much.”

“Alright then, what about Solas?" 

She thought for a while, fingers tapping against her thigh. “Don’t know if I should trust him. He’s got this thing about him…”

“Aloof,” he offered, and she nodded in recognition.  
  
“Aloof, yeah. I don’t do well with aloof, so I can’t get to him.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Varric picked the second tankard up and wrapped his fingers around it. Already icy. Brilliant.

“He’s damned good at what he does though. Long winded as a bloody Chantry priest, but good. Walked me through the rift stuff like he’s been doing it all his life.” She waggled her fingers at him, and it flared just a little.

Varric couldn’t help himself. “Does it bother you?”  
  
“Hm, this?” She looked at her palm, at the now thin line of light pulsing ever so slightly against her skin. Varric noticed how her eyes went from impartial to a fierce anger, burning hot, then to an icy cold that rivalled the wind nipping around them. But when they looked back at him, they were the same, cool green.

“I’m managing.” 

Never flinched, not once.

After a tick, she suddenly smiled at him, a lopsided thing that made her eyes crinkle at the corners, and the motion made her seem years younger. “Thanks for asking though, Varric.”

It occurred to him that he never asked her what she thought of _him_. But then he remembered that she hauled him out of the way of a Pride demon, just hours after meeting him. Destroyed two red lyrium veins in just a day, after he happened to mention it to her once in passing. Sat with him by the fire, joking lightly, when she would have ordinarily taken off by herself into the darkness.

It must be difficult, he realised with a jolt, to be surrounded by humans and elves and dwarves, after having only been in the company of Vashoth. Not to mention that the people around her generally did not wish her kind well, if that was putting it lightly. She didn’t have to say a word, but Varric is a writer and he _notices_.

She liked him, Varric thought as he grinned back at her. And from that moment on, he decided he liked her as well.


	2. Chapter 2

For a fledgling organization, the Inquisition certainly did require a large amount of paperwork.

Josephine was elbow deep in her current letter, brows furrowed, eyes blind to all but the words in front of her. Her mind hummed with words yet unwritten, waiting for her to sift through them, to pick the correct ones and lay them out on the parchment. 

Writing calmed her, despite the amount of it she had to do. It helped her focus, to forget the chaos of the world around her if only for a short moment. And in this case, as with most of the letters she had written in the few weeks since arriving at Haven, her writing would help leash the chaos. The right words to the right person would save the Inquisition so much more work, as evident from conversations she already had with the likes of Marquis Durelion, as well as others that wished to put a stopper on what they wished to achieve.

It was Marquis Durelion himself who would be the recipient of her current letter. Once she was satisfied with what she had written, she folded and sealed it quickly, before placing it on the pile to her right, ready to be taken to the ravens. Her work for the afternoon now done, she allowed her mind to wander towards the kitchens, where she could maybe procure a cup of tea.

But the door creaked open ahead of her, and as she looked up, she was greeted by the sight of the Herald peeking into the room.

Adaar and her party had returned from the Hinterlands earlier that day. Josephine had not seen much of her, apart from when Cullen and Roderick were at each other’s throats. After attempting to soothe the two men, she had disappeared into the village, presumably on some errand or other. Josephine had a mind to go and look for her, as there was some business they had to discuss before the war meeting later in the afternoon. Her sudden appearance in Josephine’s office made things easier now.  

“Adaar?” Josephine offered the Herald a smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, Josephine.” Adaar stepped into the room, still clothed in leathers and her travelling cloak. She had a bag in hand, stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood. “Flissa told me that there was somebody here that does research on animals? We picked up quite a lot of bear claws in the Hinterlands, and I thought I’d see if she’d have a use for them.”

“Oh, you must be looking for Minaeve. She oversees all our creature research. I am not sure where she has gone, but she should return eventually. You can leave the bag on her table just there.”  
  
Adaar looked to where Josephine had motioned; Minaeve’s research table was covered in papers and tiny bottles filled with strange little things. Josephine once saw something indeterminate move in one of them, and decided not to venture too close. With care, Adaar shifted some of the papers aside and set the bag onto the table.

“I take it the Hinterlands were not very friendly,” Josephine said. “That bag looks rather full of bear claws.” 

“Oh you don’t know the half of it.” Adaar shook her head. “Harding had marked a good spot to set up camp, but as soon as we got there we were ass-deep in basically a herd… is that what they’re called? Well basically, a lot of bears. Took us a good while to clear it out, and we were covered in blood and grime and bear guts by the end of it. Should’ve heard Varric complaining after.”

She chuckled, remembering how the dwarf was ranting about having a hot shower as soon as the Herald’s party had returned. “I may have heard some of it already.”  
  
Adaar chuckled, but her eyes strayed once more to the researcher’s table. “I don’t suppose you know when Minaeve will be back? There’s other things in the bag too, stuff we collected from demons, rift residue and some other material Solas seemed very keen on bringing back. I’ve got some things I’d like to ask her about them.”  
  
Josephine shook her head. “I apologise, but I did not even notice her leaving the room. My writing has kept me very occupied for the past few hours. But you are welcome to wait here until she comes back, if you still wish to have a word with her.”

“Yeah, I’ll hang around here. If you don’t mind of course,” she added hurriedly. “I don’t want to be breathing down your neck when you’re working.”  
  
“No, not at all!” Josephine motioned towards the stack of letters on her desk. “I had just finished the last of my letters, and was about to take a short rest. And I have been meaning to catch up with you as well. How was your trip to the Hinterlands?” She gestured towards Minaeve’s table. “Apart from successfully fighting bears and demons and the like, that is.”

Josephine had received Harding’s reports; it was not like she had not known what Adaar and her party managed to achieve within their two weeks in the wilderness. But she wanted to hear it from Adaar herself.  
  
“Well, we managed to secure the Crossroads, as you probably already know from Leliana. Got the refugees food and furs, helped a couple of them out with missives and healing potions and things. Also, mages and templars _everywhere._ It’s ridiculous.”

So, the war was still raging then. Josephine had heard rumours from visiting nobles that there were talks of more negotiations, but she knew that there was nothing short of a miracle that would end the war, now that the leaders of both sides were little more than ashes on the ground. 

“Did they make it difficult to pass through?” she asked Adaar. 

“We tried to avoid them for the most part, because it’s not really our fight. But there were times we were caught in the crossfire despite ourselves.” Adaar folded her arms and leaned against the wall, eyes suddenly downcast. “I don’t like unnecessary killing. Don’t think Cassandra and Varric do either, from their reactions to what happened. But the apostates attacked us on sight. Some of the mages were barely of age.”  
  
Before Josephine could offer words of comfort, Adaar shook her head and turned back to her.

“But enough about the Hinterlands. You can get bears and demons and mages killing templars anywhere these days. What’s been going on over here? Well, apart from Roderick and Cullen trying to kill each other that is.”  
  
She was clearly deflecting, but Josephine let it pass. She had not known the Herald long enough to feel comfortable probing her.

“I am afraid that other than that, things have been rather quiet over the past week. Apart from trading words with the Chancellor, Cullen has been training the few soldiers we have. I have hardly seen Leliana, for she has been coordinating her agents across the Hinterlands.”

“And you? Has that Marquis been giving you problems over Haven since?”  
  
“Oh Maker, no. In fact, I was just writing to him when you walked in.” She motioned towards the letter on the top of her pile. “It was mainly to remind him of our earlier discussion, and of where we stand.”  
  
“Very subtly worded, as I can imagine.” Adaar grinned at her conspiratorially.

“Of course. And as polite as you would expect.” Josephine smiled at her. “I am, after all, a diplomat.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Lady Montilyet.” Adaar bowed slightly, arms still crossed, her grin growing wider.

As she listened, Josephine realized that she had never seen Adaar smile before. The past few weeks had been rather busy and every time she had been in Adaar’s presence, the Herald had been rather reserved. Considering the events that had led her to joining the Inquisition in the first place, and the continued hostility showered unto her by the Chantry, it was understood that Adaar would not want to show weakness. Leliana would regard it as the smart thing to do, Josephine thought. _Keep your distance, keep those around you at arm’s length, and you may survive this._

But then now Adaar stood in front of her, _smiling_ , and Josephine realized that something had changed in the weeks past. Perhaps her trip to the Hinterlands had softened her. Or it could have been the time spent with a certain Master Tethras. He seemed to have that effect on most people.

_She looks so different when she smiles. Younger. Less worn._

Josephine caught herself, brushed those thoughts aside. Ignored the sudden warmth in her cheeks. Instead, she turned back to the conversation at hand.

“Leliana likes to joke about how my letters are probably more deadly than a dagger to the ribs. Morbid, as per usual, but I do enjoy the comparison.” 

“Again, wouldn’t expect less of her.” Adaar paused for a moment, as if choosing her next words carefully. “It’s odd. I’ve only been working with all of you for a handful of weeks, and yet I feel like I know you a lot better than I know half the people in the Valo Kas.”

“Really?” Josephine leaned forward, surprised. “What _do_ you think of us, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She watched as Adaar refolded her arms, eyes alight. _They were green_ , Josephine realized as the light from her multitude of candles reflected in Adaar’s eyes. _A rather lovely shade of green._  

“Cullen’s a good man. Ex-templar, right? Sounds like he wants to redeem himself for the shit that happened in Kirkwall. But he looks after the soldiers well, even if he’s a hard-ass when he trains. Leliana’s all cloak and dagger, but I understand why it’s necessary. Can’t get too close to people and all that, with the number of secrets she deals with.”  
  
“And myself?”  
  
“You?” Adaar’s grin grew wider. “Honestly, you’re the one I’m actually the most afraid of.”  
  
“Afraid? Of me?” Josephine looked at Adaar, surprised.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not actually _afraid_ of you. Leliana’s probably more likely to stick a dagger through my ribs as I sleep. But what you did with the Marquis? Somebody that can dismiss some Orlesian lord who’s trying to get us all kicked out of here with just a couple of words? I don’t think I’ve seen anybody handle a situation like that without having to pull out a weapon of some kind.”    
  
“Ah it is nothing,” Josephine waved her off. “This is child’s play compared to what I dealt with in Val Royeux. There, the courts are thick with scandal and gossip. Every word, every turn of phrase carries the weight of a kingdom, and you must be wary of whatever you say. The Marquis was a small fish in the ocean of politics, attempting to sway us with some ancient treaties, treaties he unfortunately did not fully understand. I, on the other hand, am quite well versed in the policies of Orlesian land claims. It was simply a matter of reminding him that we do indeed have the rights to use Haven, as dictated by Divine Justinia. All of this is what I have reiterated in my letter to him, and we should hopefully never hear from him again.”

Adaar was shaking her head incredulously as she said all of this. “See, everything you just said there? Incredible.” Her smile grew soft then, and Josephine felt the warmth in her cheeks grow once more. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. The Inquisition is lucky to have you with us, Josephine.” 

“I… thank you, Herald.” She was not expecting such a bold compliment, and it certainly threw her off guard. Not to mention Adaar’s eyes, those lovely green eyes were boring right into hers, and try as she may she could not look away. “I try my best.”  
  
Something had shifted in Adaar at those words. Her smile had slipped, the warmth in her eyes fading as she turned away.  “That’s all we can do, can’t we?” A sigh. Folded arms tightening around each other. “Our best.”

There was something clearly bothering Adaar. Was it the mages she killed in the Hinterlands? Or was it something else, lurking deeper beneath the façade she had pulled up around herself? Again, the fear of overstepping crept up on Josephine, but there was now need to comfort, to help.

She may be the Herald but she was also a person, with hopes and fears and thoughts that wormed their way into minds when they least wished it.

And so, for the first time in a while, Josephine ignored her better judgment. 

“Are you alright, Herald?”

“Me?” Adaar turned back to her, expression careful. Guarded. “I’m fine.” Despite

Despite Adaar’s swift answer, Josephine pressed on, choosing her next words carefully.

“Being torn from all you had known before, tossed into the heart of something as unfamiliar as the Inquisition must have been difficult to adjust to. Not to mention the burden of your title. If there is anything on your mind, anything that weighs on you… know that I am here to listen if you wish to speak freely. You should have somebody you can turn to in this chaos, and I am here to help.”

A pause. A deep breath. A shift, as Adaar moved to sit on the chair across from Josephine. She moved so quickly that Josephine only registered her movement when she was already in the chair. 

Now that they were in such close proximity to each other, Josephine could see the dark circles around Adaar’s eyes, circles that she thought were just the light playing across the Herald’s face. Josephine also noticed, though not for the first time, the multitude of thin scars crisscrossing Adaar’s face. They were most likely a result of her many years working as a mercenary, for Josephine understood that life was hard for a sell-sword – doubly so if they were a qunari. 

Without the smile, she now looked tired.

“What I endure is my own burden to bear.” Adaar’s voice was soft, but Josephine heard all the same. “I’m here to help you seal the Breach. That’s the job I’m here for. Bringing my troubles into this will only make things complicated, and things here are complicated enough as it is.”

It was true. Josephine herself had had to learn to separate personal matters from work. There was no use speaking to those around her in Orlais about how the family business was crumbling, how her brothers were working their fingers off building ships and sending them off, only for them to return empty, or to not return at all. She worried, yes Josephine worried every night, reading and rereading the letters from her father, from Laurien and Antoine. The members of the court would only seize on this information, storing it to use against her later. It was wiser to keep matters close to your chest, to separate your work from your feelings. 

Josephine could have left it at that. But the weariness she saw in Adaar’s eyes made something shift inside of her. 

Adaar’s hand rested on her desk, long, slender fingers toying with the stopper of her inkwell. Before she could register what she was about to do, she took Adaar’s hand.

“In the Inquisition, we all come from different backgrounds, different parts of Thedas, but the only way we are going to succeed is if we trust each other. I know that Cullen speaks to Cassandra regarding his past as a templar, and that many of the soldiers and scouts confide in each other about the difficulties we face. It is only fair that you have somebody as well. You should not have to endure this alone, Adaar. Trust me when I say this; we are here to help you, as you have been helping us.”

Another heavy pause followed. Adaar looked down at their hands; Josephine’s smaller one resting on top of hers. Her expression was guarded, unreadable.

 _Maybe she had overstepped_ , Josephine thought, fear seizing her. _An unwise gamble. Apologise now and back away. There may be time to salvage this yet._

But before Josephine could speak, Adaar turned to her.

“Tashak.”

“What?”  
  
“Call me Tashak.” Adaar was smiling again, that soft smile that made Josephine’s cheeks warm and her heart beat faster than it should. “If we’re going to do this, this whole… helping each other out thing, we should be on a first name basis. I know yours already, it’s only fair you know mine.”  
  
“Tashak,” Josephine said slowly, carefully. She did not know the qunari language, but the name rung clear and true on her tongue.

It was a good name, she thought. It fit her well.  
  
“That’s me.” The grin returned, playful now. “At your service.”  
  
“As am I to you,” Josephine smiled back, squeezing her hand with her own. She was about to say something else, to ask her more about what was bothering her, but her thoughts were interrupted by the low, mournful toll of the Chantry bell.

“Ah right, the meeting.” Adaar removed her hand from Josephine’s. “More work.”  
  
“It never seems to end,” Josephine agreed with a smile, watching as Adaar stood up from the chair. “I suppose we will have to continue this conversation at another time. You go on ahead, Herald. I have to gather some of this paperwork for discussion.”

Adaar nodded, the small smile still on her lips. “It was nice talking with you Josephine.”  
  
“Likewise, Herald.” Josephine looked up at Adaar… no, _Tashak_ , and added, “And please, do come find me if there is something bothering you. I understand that it may be difficult to speak of such things, but I assure you that I am willing to listen.”

“That… would be nice. I might take you up on that.”  
  
The bell tolled again.

“Ah yeah. Meeting.” With a small wave, Tashak exited the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Josephine curled her hand into a fist, the hand that only moments ago rested on Tashak’s. The warmth from the contact hadn’t seemed to fade.

She would think more on this later. For now, she had a meeting to attend.

*

“But Herald, there is the situation in Val Royeux!” Josephine looked up at Adaar from the other side of the war table, pen paused over a piece of parchment. “We cannot afford to waste any more time than we already have.”

The Herald’s arms were folded, her brows furrowed as she looked at the map, particularly at a certain marker in the Hinterlands. Her reserved stance had returned, eyes silent, mouth unsmiling. It was as if their conversation in her office just an hour ago had not happened.

“These are my people, Josephine. I can’t just send a bunch of soldiers to find them in my stead.”

Ah yes. Her people.

They had received two letters that afternoon; one of which was held tightly in Adaar’s fist as she looked at the map in front of her.  It was from her old mercenary captain, from the Valo Kas. Adaar’s company had been hired as extra security during the Conclave, and as such, many of the qunari were in or around the Temple of Sacred Ashes during the explosion. The captain, Shokrakar, had heard that Adaar had survived, and was seeking aid from the Inquisition to find any remaining members of the Valo Kas that may have also made it out alive. 

This might have been a long shot, if the second letter had not arrived at the same time.   

It was a brief scrap of paper from a scout in the Hinterlands, who had encountered a cart of bound and gagged qunari on the road to Redcliffe. Whether or not they were part of Adaar’s mercenary company was something to be seen.  

The advisors each had suggestions as to how best to approach this. Adaar on the other hand wanted to set off and look for them herself. As a result, they had been arguing in circles for what seemed like an age now.

The problem here was that the clerics in Val Royeux were anticipating the Herald’s arrival within the next week or so. Ever since Adaar had agreed to Mother Giselle’s suggestion to meet with the clerics, to allay their fears of her and the Inquisition, and to perhaps regain the Chantry’s trust. If she were to be late, which she would most certainly be if she were to go to the Hinterlands now to look for her lost kin, the clerics would not be very pleased. In fact, Josephine had spent the last ten minutes explaining to Adaar that there was a very likely chance that the clerics would send the Chantry’s remaining loyal templars to escort her to Val Royeux as a prisoner. Roderick’s threats were not empty, and it seemed that his ramblings to the clerics would have weight now that his position in the Chantry ranks was elevated.

But Adaar only cared about looking for her kin, and had thus ignored everything she and the other advisors had said.

“They could be anywhere by now.” Cullen was rubbing his temples, clearly exasperated. “It takes a week for the ravens to reach us from the Hinterlands, and they could be long gone by now. We don’t know for sure where they were headed, or if they were even a part of the Herald’s mercenary company.”  

“Which is why it would be best to send my agents to scout the area.” Leliana said for what was probably the fourth time this hour. She motioned towards a wide area on the map, surrounding Redcliffe village. “They move swiftly, and now have eyes across this particular region thanks to the Herald’s efforts. If they notice anything, they can watch and track the movements of the qunari’s captors, giving us time to act.”

“Time enough perhaps for a group of soldiers to ambush them?” Cullen looked to the map once more, nodding slowly now. “I suppose a small troop could be on alert, perhaps keeping close to one of the camps? That way, they could correspond swiftly with the scouts.”

“That could work, yes.”

It was a sound plan, and Josephine was inclined to agree with them. And indeed, she was about to voice her approval, if she had not looked up at Adaar at that very moment.

There was an obvious difference between Adaar and Tashak. Josephine realized early on during this meeting that it was difficult to refer to Adaar by her given name in this room. Adaar was stoic, serious, reserved to a fault. Arms folded, eyes sharp as she discussed tactics and missives with the advisors. It was easy to call her Adaar. The soldier, the warrior, the stoic bearer of the title Herald of Andraste.

But the look on Adaar’s face when she had read the letter, the way her normally reserved features crumpled ever so slightly, fingers tightening around the parchment, revealed a side to her that Josephine had only caught a glimpse of in her office.

The Herald may have been reserved to a fault, working tirelessly over the past few weeks to secure the Inquisition’s interests across Ferelden and within Haven itself, barely having any time for herself it seemed. But it was at that moment that Josephine caught sight of Tashak herself, the person behind the helm.

This must have been what was bothering her. Josephine thought back to their earlier conversation, to the sudden downcast eyes, the guarded gaze.

What sort of friend was Josephine if she could not help Tashak now, when just a short while ago, she had professed to help her with the difficulties she faced.

If it were her own family that were missing, Josephine would want to front the search herself. Adaar seemed like the type of person who would want to be there on the ground, to be the first to receive any news. 

So instead of voicing her approval at the plan, she changed tack.

“How long before the trap can be sprung?”  
  
“A week, perhaps even sooner. It depends on if we can locate the cart in question.” Leliana looked at Jospehine now, curious. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“That would give the Herald enough time to reach the area, would it not?”  
  
Adaar turned to Josephine, surprised. “What are you saying?”

“You are adamant about going to the Hinterlands yourself. There may be a way to make this possible.”

“What about the clerics? Five minutes ago, you were saying they’ll want my head on a stick if I’m late.”

Josephine looked up at Adaar, at the tightened fist around the letter and the unbridled, sudden emotion in her eyes, and wished she could walk across the table and take her hand once more.

“I have already sent word to Val Royeux, that is true. It will not be easy to persuade the clerics to wait longer than they already have, but I believe I can buy you some time.” Josephine inked her quill, and began to note down the preliminary details of her letter. “There are some favours I can draw on, some strings I can pull. Even with that, I fear I can only give you until the beginning of Solace. No later.” 

“Which is two weeks from now.” Cassandra stepped up to the table beside Adaar. She traced a route with her fingers as she spoke.“A detour to the Hinterlands would not take long, now that we have the horses from Master Dennet. But we would have to leave soon. Perhaps even tomorrow.”  
  
“It’s still pushing for time, but not unreasonable,” Cullen said after a pause, unfolding his arms to reach for his map-marker.

“That’s all I need.” Adaar’s fingers around the letter had loosened slightly, Josephine noticed.

“It is done then.” Cassandra nodded at them as she made for the door. “We must prepare for our journey. I shall inform Solas and Varric of our plans, Herald.”  
  
“Alright.” Adaar made to leave the room behind Cassandra, but she stopped and turned towards the advisors. Her eyes lingered on Josephine longer than the others.

“Thank you.” 

“We are glad we could help,” Josephine said. Adaar’s lips curled upwards at those words. “And we hope that your search will be fruitful.” 

“Go and rest, Herald.” Cullen rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “We can manage the remainder of the business here ourselves. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

A long journey indeed, Josephine thought as she watched Adaar exit the war room. There seemed to be no rest for her, no emotional respite. No way for Josephine to speak with her after this, now that she was to set off for the Hinterlands the very next day.

With a sigh, she turned to her writing-board once more.

She hoped Tashak would be alright.

*

 _Adaar,_

_I heard you were dead, and then a prisoner, and then maybe you fell out of the Fade and landed on your head and forgot who you were. Seriously, stop that. We still haven't been paid._

_Some of our kith made it out of that giant shit hole full of demons after the explosion. The rest are dead or missing. I don't know how many were rounded up by angry humans. If you're not dead and you remember who you are, help me find our brothers and sisters._

_Shokrakar_

_P.S. If you forgot who you are, I'll remind you:_ Your name is Adaar. You're Vashoth. You didn't get paid for being blown up.

_P.P.S The other Adaars haven’t come back either. I want to hope that they’re with you. If you’re not dead, that is._

_P.P.S. If you are dead, disregard this message._

Tashak had read the letter more times than she could count, her eyes moving across the crumpled shred of parchment even though she knew the words by heart now. She could practically hear Shokrakar’s voice from the hurriedly scrawled words, knew that she was probably on the move across Orlais, towards Ferelden with what was left of the company. The fact that the letter had reached the Inquisition as quickly as it did mean that she was close enough to send a raven that Leliana’s agents could intercept and reroute to Haven.  

 _The other Adaars haven’t come back either._  

That one line burned in the back of her mind. Whatever shred of hope that her siblings had survived the explosion, had made it back to the Valo Kas was now crushed.

 _And why would they have survived_ , she thought darkly. _They were inside the Chantry when it happened._ _Even if they managed to escape, how far would they have gone before either demons or debris had taken care of them?_

She realised her fingers were fisted into her hair.

They were most likely dead, but she still held on to that stubborn string of hope inside of her. The hope that they might have somehow survived.

The report from the scout was what had rekindled this hope. He had seen a cart of qunari, being taken off towards Redcliffe. There was still a chance, however small, that her siblings had survived, that they were in that cart headed off to Maker-knows where. Either to some Chantry to be executed in Tashak’s own name, or worse, to the north, towards Tevinter where they would be sold as slaves. 

Her mind turned then to the war meeting earlier in the day. How the advisors had argued and argued and argued against her going to the Hinterlands, and the rational part of her mind was inclined to agree with them. It did not make sense for her to go off on a potentially fruitless search through forests and fields when she could be on the way to Val Royeux to speak with the clerics; a task that held more weight than a wild goose chase through the Hinterlands.

But she was stubborn and headstrong and this was the first time she had allowed the advisors to see that. She had already half a mind to sneak out in the night by herself, stealing off into the night with one of their hard-earned horses.

Leliana and Cullen’s plan was sound, she had to agree. But the problem was that she wanted to be there. To find the bastards that kidnapped her kith and stick every arrow she could possibly shoot into their skulls. To find her brothers and sister alive, hale and whole. 

And they might have decided on this plan without her input, if not for Josephine.

She had realised how important this was to her and had spoken up for her, despite how difficult it was going to be to appease the clerics. After that, everything seemed to fall into place with an ease she did not think was possible for this mission. They had agreed to help her, despite the immense inconvenience it would cause them.

It made her reassess her initial impressions of the Inquisition.

She had thought they were just there to use her, because she had the damned mark on her hand, was the only one that could close the rifts. But they had shown today that they _perhaps_ cared about her beyond her abilities.

_Trust me when I say this; we are here to help you, as you have been helping us._

Josephine’s voice rung true in her mind, and she would admit that when she had first heard those words, she had only half-heartedly believed them. But now, after seeing what they had done for her, it made her think. Made her more inclined to trust them.

But those were heavy thoughts, best saved for another day. They set out for the Hinterlands tomorrow. She had better be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs as I emerge from a pile of unfinished work*
> 
> Hi. I'm back. 
> 
> I started this almost eleven months ago, in the hope that publishing the first chapter would get me writing consistently again. Unfortunately life got the better of me, and it's only now that I'm slowly getting back into the groove of things. So here, have another chapter. 
> 
> (This is also my first time writing in Josephine's POV! She's a lot of fun to write, but I'm still learning! Let me know what you guys think! Comments are much appreciated, as always ^^)


	3. Chapter 3

_The air reeked of sweat._

_It was the first thing he registered as he stirred from slumber; the stench and the weight of the air as it entered his lungs, threatening to choke. It was the smell of too many bodies pressed against each other, crammed together tightly with barely enough room to shrug your shoulders._

_Reminded him of his parents’ stories of how they stowed away from Par Vollen, dozens and dozens of refugees huddled in between barrels of salted fish._

_He opened his eyes, allowed them to adjust in the darkness._

_Silhouettes of people surrounded him; men, elves, qunari such as himself. There were at least a dozen of them, bound to the sides of the cart like cattle on the way to the butcher’s. And in a way they were, he thought grimly, once again testing his own bonds, even though he knew there was no way he would be able to free himself from the iron shackles._

_Beside him, his brother was still unconscious, head lolling on his shoulder, dried blood on the side of his face. His right horn was broken, jagged edges still sharp. If only he had his hands free, he could reach over to Vashan, to shake him, make him wake up._

_Looking across the cart now, he met his sister’s eyes. Sekhara’s face was haggard, eyes bloodshot. He was sure she had not slept since they were captured. She looked at him, not daring to speak lest they were heard by their captors, but she mouthed across to him the same words she did every time they caught each other’s eye._

We need to get the fuck out of here.

_He contemplated using magic. A little ice spell to freeze the chains, the shackles, and he would be able to wrench himself free. But then there was the matter of freeing his brother and sister, of then actually escaping. There were men on horses outside the cart, riding alongside. If they managed to get out of the cart, they would not get far before they were cut down._

_Karavaad looked out behind them, at the village lights that was beginning to disappear behind the trees of the forest. Where they were going, where he knew they were being taken… they would not survive long._

_They had been captured by slavers, preyed upon when they were at their most vulnerable. And now they were on route to Highever, where they would take ship to Kirkwall. He had overheard them talking as they drove the cart, and from the fearful glances Sekhara gave him, he knew she had heard as well._

_The Free Marches were swarming with slavers now, especially after the mage-templar war had broken out. If they escaped on the wrong side of the Waking Sea, it would be too easy for another group to capture them. They had no documents proclaiming them members of the Valo Kas, which meant that even though they would be on home soil, nobody would come to help them. Not a handful of stragglers without a leader, not when the Valo Kas were probably still in Ferelden, looking for survivors in the Frostbacks. Their best chance at escaping was while they were still in Ferelden. Karavaad mouthed this to his sister, who nodded slowly._

_Time was running out, and for lack of less colourful language, they needed to get the fuck out of here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the siblings make an appearance. Will Adaar find them in time? Or will they escape themselves? 
> 
> Tune in whenever the next chapter is uploaded for answers!
> 
> (I'm not sure when I'm going to upload next, it depends on my schedule. The final semester of med school is kicking my butt real hard)


	4. Chapter 4

There were many things Cassandra had expected to do in the name of the Inquisition, but stalking slavers was not very high up on that list. 

But here they were, crouched in the shadows cast by the setting sun, hiding among the trees that lined the road just ahead of them. From where she was, she could see the opening of a cave, which was a deep jagged line carved into the side of one of the many mountains that dotted the Hinterlands.

A cave that contained a wagon-full of captured qunari, should the scouts’ missive be true.

She stole a quick glance behind her to the rest of the party. Varric had already pulled out his crossbow and was carefully loading arrows into it. Solas was as still as a stone, eyes closed, breath even.   

And Adaar? Cassandra turned around to take note of said Vashoth, who was at the rear of the group. She was as still as Solas was, but there was an undercurrent of tension that Cassandra could feel radiating off her. Was it fear, or anticipation, or something else entirely, she was not sure. Her eyes were trained on the cave entrance, almost unblinkingly. 

Turning back to their target, Cassandra slowly unsheathed her sword and began the slow process of clearing her mind. Focus was essential in the heat of battle, and she knew that any errant thought could serve as a distraction, which may be deadly.

But try as she may, her mind kept turning back to Adaar and the events of the past week. 

They rode fast through the mountains, reaching the outskirts camp in scarcely a couple of days. Camps were made swiftly, and even as they were to rest, Cassandra could see the hard outline of Adaar’s shoulders through the material of the tent, standing tall by the campfire as she poured over the same map over and over again. She knew that if the Vashoth had gotten her own way, they would have not taken made camp at all.

She already did not sleep much. Solas had joked during their previous trip to the Hinterlands about how the longest he had seen her sleep was when she was unconscious. Which was true, for Adaar was always the first awake and the last to sleep, even in Haven. Cassandra had often noticed her by the training fields, firing arrow after arrow into the already laden target. She would carry on into the night, even after Cullen retired to his bedroll.

There must be a lot weighing on her mind. Cassandra was always so focused on the Inquisition, and what had to be done, that she had not stopped to consider that Adaar might have troubles of her own.

To be fair, they had not gotten off on quite the same footing. Adaar had seemed insolent and ignorant of the immediate dangers they faced with the Breach, only concerned with her own survival. But with retrospect, Cassandra now realised that those were the actions of one that was cornered, surrounded by those who sought to see justice done to her for something she did not do. Of one who did not know if her companions had survived the explosion.

Now that they had been fighting and planning and travelling together for almost a month, Cassandra knew that her initial impressions of the Vashoth were only partially true. Yes, Adaar disagreed with her and held her own motivations close to her chest, but Adaar was also working tirelessly for the Inquisition; sealing rifts and seeking out alliances with the Fereldens. She had a knack for persuading those to her cause, and people began looking up to her, despite their natural fear and mistrust of her kind. 

She was an impressive woman, Cassandra knew now. But she was also still a woman, with her own worries and fears. She hoped that recovering Adaar’s missing brethren would help allay some of these, and in turn give their Herald a similar amount of confidence in her companions that she had instilled in them.

The bushes ahead of them rustled as Scout Harding emerged from the shadows. Without a sound, she motioned towards the cave.

It was time.

*

The ambush was a success.

It took them much less time to subdue the captors than Cassandra had thought. There were only four of them, perhaps guards that were left behind as the main group left on some errand or other. They surrendered without much complaint, seeing as that the group that ambushed them was led by a very tall, _very_ angry qunari. 

Solas and Varric were leading the captors out of the cave, which was currently being swarmed by Inquisition soldiers carrying torches. From the light, Cassandra noticed several large metal cages at the back of the cave. Several dark shapes moved within them, slowly and sluggishly. She took a torch from one of the soldiers and began moving towards Adaar, who was taking a set of keys from Scout Harding.

She overheard some of their conversation. 

“… I was about to unlock the cages myself, but I thought you’d want the honour.”

Adaar nodded slowly and made her way to the back of the cave. Harding noticed Cassandra approaching her and saluted.  
  
“Seeker. We’ve searched the cave, and apart from the four that we’ve captured there’s nobody left apart from those in the cages. The Herald is about to unlock them now, and from there we’ll see what we need to do next.”

“Thank you, Scout Harding. We shall look for you once we have released the captives.” 

Harding saluted once more before making her way to the mouth of the cave, leaving Cassandra alone with Adaar and the captives.

She was about to make her way towards the Herald when one of the captives shouted in recognition.

“Thank the bloody Maker, it’s Adaar!” 

The other captives paused for a moment before erupting into joyous shouts of their own. Adaar’s smile was brilliant as she began unlocking the first cage, the one containing the Vashoth that recognised her.

“Kaaris.” She swung the cage door open and the Vashoth stumbled out towards her.    
  
“Tashak!” He steadied himself, grabbing her shoulders tight. “ _Fuck_ , it’s so good to see you. We thought you were dead.”  
  
“Well, I thought I’d be dead too.” Adaar looked around at the other cages. “How many of you are there?”  
  
“Four, including myself. There were six of us initially, but Meraad and Hissra didn’t make it past the mountains.”  
  
“What about Karavaad…” 

Cassandra noticed how her voice broke when she said that name, drawing close enough to the other qunari that Cassandra couldn’t quite hear what she said next. But in the next moment, Kaaris was shaking his head and she noticed how Adaar’s fingers around his arms tightened.

“… would’ve seen ‘em on the way out of the mountains if they did, Tashak. I’m sorry.”

Adaar sighed, a deep, bone-shaking sigh. “It’s alright Kaaris. I wasn’t expecting much, not after what happened. I’m just glad we could find you and the others.”  
  
“S’alright. I’m just glad it was you and not those slave owners they were talking about. Don’t wanna go back to Tevinter, not this Vashoth.” 

The soldiers were now making their way towards the cages, and Cassandra took this opportunity to approach Adaar as well. The keys were passed around and all the cages were eventually unlocked. Some of the Vashoth had to be carried out of the cave, supported by the soldiers and their more hale companions. But all of them, every single one of them reached for Adaar as they passed her. They wrapped her in tight hugs, or clapped her weakly on the shoulder depending on how injured they were. All of them thanking her profusely for rescuing them. 

Despite their victory, however, Cassandra couldn’t help but notice that Adaar’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. 

“She alright?” Varric trudged up beside her, his voice gruff as he too observed the scene. “Doesn’t look as happy as she should be, now that we’ve found her friends.”

Cassandra shook her head and turned to the dwarf. “She was expecting somebody else. When she spoke to the Vashoth that recognised her, she mentioned a name. Whoever it was, they were not among those captured here. They must have meant a great deal to her.”  
  
“And probably didn’t make it out of the mountains.” Varric rubbed his temples. “Shit.” 

It pained her to admit it, but she agreed with him.

* 

It was a new moon, which meant that the only light they had that night was their measly campfire. Cassandra poked at the wood with her sword, careful to not accidentally extinguish the flame.

Once they had rounded up the Vashoth, they had sent them off to the Crossroads with Scout Harding and the soldiers. Negotiations with Corporal Vale meant that they were allowed safe passage and temporary lodging in the village, as they waited for the remaining members of the Valo Kas to reach them. From there, it was up to their leader to decide where they would go. Adaar had wanted to let them stay in Haven, but Cassandra had argued that tensions were already at a high between the mages and Templars. Adding a group of Vashoth to the mix may cause an even greater threat to the fragile peace that Cullen was managing.

Though she was annoyed, Adaar eventually agreed. 

The reason they had not personally seen to the Vashoth’s transport to the Crossroads was because they were already on their way to Val Royeux. The ambush was carried out within schedule, but it was already the beginning of Solace. It would take them a week to reach the Orlesian capital, even on horseback, and Josephine’s anxiety was palpable, even this far from Haven. 

Which is why they were camped in the middle of nowhere, with Cassandra on the first watch as she nursed the dying fire. The shadows that surrounded them were silent, save the handful of night-birds that cawed softly. Theoretically, nothing should be a threat this far out in the wilderness, but with recent events, Cassandra was on her guard anyway. You never know where a fade rift would have sprouted.

Several hours passed. The fire spat and sputtered away. Even the night-birds began to quieten. Cassandra’s eyes began to droop, and she considered waking Varric up for the next shift. She was just about to stand up when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning swiftly, sword in hand, she rose to meet the assailant…

… only for her to stop short of Adaar’s outstretched hands.

“Whoa there!” A small smile curled at the Herald’s lips, despite almost having her hands slashed open. “Didn’t think my stealthiness would startle you, but here we are. Should mark it down somewhere.” 

Cassandra lowered her sword gingerly. “I apologise, Herald. It is late, and I was about to end my shift. You caught me off guard.”

Adaar shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. In fact, I should be the one apologising. Everybody’s on edge these days, I could’ve very well been a mage or templar looking for easy bait. Or even a smuggler, or a slaver. Lots of strange types out there.”

Was it her, or was Adaar rambling? Cassandra remembered the surly, silent figure that stalked their campfires many a night in the past month. This was odd.

“Are you… alright, Herald?”

Adaar sat down by the fire, turning away from Cassandra. “I’m great. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

 _You did not seem happy to find your brethren today_ , Cassandra wanted to say as she sat down across Adaar. _In fact, you seemed disappointed. I heard you mention a name to your friend. A name that was not among those in the cages._

Instead she poked at the fire with her sword once more, filling the awkward silence with the sound of sputtering logs.

Soon enough, her eyes began to droop once more. She was just about to excuse herself when Adaar let out a long sigh.

“My brother.”

Cassandra turned to see Adaar looking at the fire.

“I do not understand.”

“You were close enough to Kaaris and me. I’m sure you heard what I was asking him.” Adaar looked up, and Cassandra could see the dark circles under her eyes, made deeper by the dying firelight. 

“Karavaad.” The way she said his name, the way her voice cracked slightly, was heartbreaking. “My brother.”

Who was not among the Vashoth they had found. Who was probably dead.

“Wasn’t just him. Vashan and Sekhara…”  Adaar swallowed thickly. “There were four of us. Siblings. We were inside the Chantry that day, one of the few stationed in the heart of the whole thing. If I was the only one that survived… well, y’know. It’d be a real miracle if they did too.”

“So that is why you were adamant on searching the Hinterlands yourself.” Everything was falling into place now, the desperation in her words at the meeting that day, the ferocity in which she grasped Kaaris’ shoulders, questioning him as soon as she recognised the Vashoth.

“Yeah. I was desperate, but I knew deep down that even if we found some of the Valo Kas, it wouldn’t be them.” Adaar paused and turned away. A hand raised to brush at her eyes quickly. “Shouldn’t have been so stupid,” she added softly, almost to herself. 

If this had been any other night, Cassandra would have kept her distance, remained silent at those words. But knowing now that she had lost her family at the Conclave…

The death of a single sibling had nearly destroyed Cassandra all those years ago. She could not imagine losing _three_ at once, especially when they were all Adaar had. From their conversation weeks ago, about her childhood in the Free Marches, Cassandra could surmise that Adaar’s parents were also dead. She was truly alone then; what remained of her family suddenly and painfully wrenched from her.

Cassandra reached across the dying fire to clasp Adaar on the shoulder. 

“This cannot be easy. I understand what it is like to lose your family, especially if they meant the world to you. If you need time away from your duties…”

“If you’re worried this is going to affect the work we’re doing here, don’t be.” Adaar glanced at the hand on her shoulder. She appeared slightly uncomfortable at the contact but made no move to shift it. Cassandra took this as a sign to continue. 

“That was not the reason for my concern, Herald. You are obviously in distress, and I wished to be of some help.” 

She sighed then, a deep, heavy sigh. “Talking here tonight… this helped. I’m upset, yeah. But I don’t want to burden all of you with my baggage when we have enough to worry about already.”

“If you think demons falling from the sky and angry Chantry lackeys are worse than the stuff that goes on inside your head,” a familiar voice called out to them in the darkness, “you’re kidding yourself.” 

A long-suffering sigh escaped Cassandra as Varric sauntered over towards them from his tent. Adaar’s lips curled into a smile at the sight of the dwarf, and it seemed that some of the weariness in her eyes had lifted as well.

“How long have you been eavesdropping on us?” Cassandra asked as he joined them by the fire.  
  
“Eavesdropping? My oh my, Seeker, did you think that your voices were soft enough that they wouldn’t carry? Besides, I’m supposed to take the next shift. I was surprised I didn’t wake up to you kicking me out of my bedroll.”  
  
It was true that the forest was silent tonight. But still, the dwarf had a knack for never minding his own business.

“It’s alright Cassandra,” Adaar said quickly, probably worried that this would spiral into yet another argument. “I’m glad for Varric’s company.”

Varric flashed her a quick grin before settling into his seat, pulling his crossbow over so that it was perched on his lap. He truly never went anywhere without it by his side, Cassandra thought.

They sat there in companionable silence for a long while; Adaar staring into the fire, Cassandra finishing her dinner and Varric… well he was watching Adaar when she was not looking. Cassandra would look up and catch him with a furrow in his brow, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. Which in all honesty was surprising, because he could never seem to shut up otherwise.

He finally spoke after what seemed like an age.

“Y’know, I have a brother too.” Adaar looked up at him sharply, lips pulled into a thin line. There was a word of warning on Cassandra’s lips; at any sign that Adaar was in distress she would silence the dwarf immediately. She had hoped that he had not heard Adaar speak about her siblings, for she was sure that the tale was meant for her alone, but from the look in Varric’s eyes, she knew that he had heard.

He carried on as if the glares he was receiving from Cassandra meant nothing though, his eyes focused solely on the Herald.

“Yeah, I don’t talk about him much. Most people know a little about what happened from the _Tale of the Champion_. We went on an expedition into the Deep Roads together, the sod betrayed Hawke and I and left us in the thaig to die.”

“What is the point of this, Varric?” 

“The _point_ is, Seeker, that I never really talked about what happened with Bartrand to anybody. Hawke and her company? They only saw it as one betrayal in a sea of dozens of others. But for me? To have the only family I had left leave me to die?” 

Varric fiddled with the straps on his crossbow, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact with them. “For a good year after we returned from the Deep Roads, I kept that shit inside of me. Let it fester, until every thought, ever memory I had ever had of Bartrand was sullied. Not that we ever had the best relationship in the first place, but now I couldn’t even _think_ about him without this white hot anger building inside.”  
  
“Well, until one night when I was having drinks with Hawke. I’d spent the day going through old documents for the family business, and I found a stack of letters he’d written while planning the expedition. Just seeing his handwriting was enough to set me off. When Hawke came in to see me, she found me staring at the fire where I’d chucked all the letters, watching the paper burn. Of course, I was drunk out of my mind then.”

He sighed then, heavy with memory. Adaar was watching him intently, caught up in the tale. Cassandra had listened to many of Varric’s stories over the past few months, and usually could not tell fact from fiction, such was the way he spun his words. But in this moment, in the quiet of the night and the open honesty on his face made Cassandra truly believe he was telling the truth.

“Hawke coaxed me out of my misery that night. She didn’t have to, y’know? We were just business associates back then. I gave her intel, she carried out the job, both of us get paid. But that night she sat down with me and listened to me rant and rave and scream about my brother for hours, and she just listened. Didn’t offer any advice, didn’t add her own anger over being cheated by my brother. She just listened. And Andraste’s ass, it felt good to tell somebody how I felt.”

The forest grew silent then, and Varric stopped fiddling with the straps of his crossbow, as if suddenly aware of how intently both Adaar and Cassandra were listening to him. 

“All I’m saying is that I’m here for you Adaar.” He glanced across at Cassandra before continuing. “And I’m sure the Seeker is as well. We’re all in this mess together and we’ve got to make sure we have each other’s backs. Just… don’t bottle that shit up, alright? It’s not going to do you any favours.”

Adaar eyes were drawn once more to the fire, unable to look at either Varric or Cassandra. Again, it was a while before she spoke.

“Thank you, Varric. Cassandra as well. But… I just need some time to grieve. To get it out of my system. We’ve got more important things to worry about than my feelings.”

There was a carelessness in the way she said that, as if she had used those words before. How much had Adaar endured in the past, for her to know exactly what to do, what to say so that they would leave her alone?

It seemed that that was the most they were going to get out of her tonight.

Varric seemed to come to that conclusion as well because he sighed heavily and stood up from his log.

“Well it was nice talking to you both. Or maybe I should say _at,_ since it was just me talking about myself. But it’s the middle of the night and _both_ of you should be getting some rest. We’ve got a long journey ahead tomorrow.”

The dwarf was right once more. Cassandra and Adaar glanced at each other and stood as well. Once they said their goodnights, she watched as Adaar made her way to her tent, the slow, careful steps of one used to stealth and silence. There was still that hard line to her shoulders, despite what she had said about their conversation helping her.

A lot of Adaar’s past was still unknown to them, and it seemed that the Vashoth wanted to keep it that way. Professional. It was something Cassandra admired about her. After all that had happened, however, it was inevitable that their small group would begin seeing more of each other’s uglier sides. Adaar and Solas were already subject to Varric and Cassandra’s bickering, and all of them had to deal with Solas’ habit of wandering when they should be advancing in a team. Adaar on the other hand had shown none of this. It was evident that she did not trust them, that there was some amount of fear of them identifying her flaws and using them against her. It made sense for her to be guarded, considering the life she had lived before the Inquisition. 

They would have to earn her trust, she thought. Just like she had earned theirs. 

*

_26 th Justinian, 9:41 Dragon_

_Dear Tashak,_

_I have begun writing this letter more times than I care to admit. There is no correct way to ask you this, and I wish I could have asked you in person before you departed for the Hinterlands. But alas we missed each other, and I am now penning this letter to you instead._

_The correspondence you received from your old mercenary company seemed to greatly upset you. Losing your brethren at the Temple must have been very difficult. If I were in your place, I would certainly want to find them myself as well, to ensure their safety with my own eyes._

_I merely wanted to ask if you were alright. If there was anything you wished to let off your chest regarding this mission. You mentioned that your pain was yours and that you do not wish to burden anybody else with it. I do understand, but this seems too heavy a weight to bear alone._

_Even if it is just a few words, I do hope you respond to this letter. I cannot help but worry a little about you._

_Safe travels, Herald._

_Josephine Montilyet_

_*_

_7 th Solace, 9:41 Dragon_

_Dear Josephine,_

_Sorry that it's taken me a while to reply. Today’s the first time we’ve had a chance to breathe, what with the scouting of the Hinterlands and the mess that was our trip to Val Royeux. At least we managed to recruit two potential allies. Sera’s tricky, but she’s great in a pinch. And Vivienne has connections to the Orlesian court, something we really need._

_We’re on our way back to Haven as I write this. Harding’s written to Leliana about what happened in the Hinterlands.  I’m sure she’s told you and Cullen already._

_I don’t feel like this is a topic I can write about here. I’d rather talk to you about it face to face. I’ve already spoken to Varric and Cassandra about this. Cassandra. Of all people, can you imagine?_  


_I’ll talk to you as soon as we get back. Should be another week at the most. You’ll probably receive this letter in the time it takes for us to reach the Frostbacks._

_See you soon._

_Tashak_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello. i'm not dead. 
> 
> a lot seems to have happened in between my last update and now. ive graduated med school, been unemployed for 3 months (it takes a bit of time to get registered into the system as a doctor here in malaysia welp), and i've started making it a point to write a little every day. i've been sitting on this chapter since i posted the last one, and if i edit it anymore my eyes will probably start bleeding. there are many bits of this im not happy with but i'm still gonna post it here so i can MOVE ON and write the other thirty one word documents i have for this fic so far. 
> 
> for those who keep track of this fic, thank you for being patient with me. i'm sorry im such a terrible updater :^(
> 
> (quitefair.tumblr.com --> free profuse yelling)


End file.
